dead hearts on the battlefield
by hisgirltuesday
Summary: "Is that all you want in life in return for your soul? Retribution?" There's no hesitation in her answer and he wonders when he'd missed that bloodthirsty glint in her eyes. "That, and so much more." —He teaches her how to aim a gun. She has no problem teaching herself to pull the trigger. Max is a mage with an agenda and Fang's the punishment for all her past sins. AU
1. but alas, revenge becomes her

**extended summary:** "Is that all you want in life in return for your soul? Retribution?" There's no hesitation in her answer and he wonders when he'd missed that bloodthirsty glint in her eyes. "That, and so much more." Between attempts on her life and plans gone awry, Max is just trying to set things right in all the wrong ways. In which Max is a mage stuck in an unfriendly world and Fang is the product of making deals with the devil.

**notes:** _Salvum ventus: Save me, wind_

_Aperio, Deleo: reveal, erase_

_Exsolvo, resolvo: release, loosen_

—google translate

**notes2:** Mage/Supernatural/Fantasy AU. Like pushing-the-limits AU, world-building-to-the-max AU.

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:::::** 01.** but alas, _revenge becomes her_ :::::

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She finds it rather ironic that although she's lived in the drafty old mansion her entire life (as did most of her predecessors), she was never informed that a whole labyrinth was constructed below its floors, hidden by concealed runes behind bookshelves in the first-floor library. Max would like to think of all the reasons why such an obvious give-away never made it to the ears of the Council, but brushes it off as she'd made it a rule to never question good things with the kind of life she has.

Max double-checks the crumpled piece of parchment in her hand, smoothing out creases and fingering already smeared charcoal lines, _muttering it should be here, it should be here_ under her breath to empty stone hallways. Her enchanted moonstone pendant is her only source of light in the dank corridors, wound tightly around her left wrist. She very nearly slips on a puddle of water, but her eyes are still riveted on the map as the charcoal lines shifted, the hallways did too.

Magic was a pain in the ass sometimes, but if the spelled labyrinth kept the Council officials off her tail, she'll take what she could get. Even if she had to journey with a weird mist hanging around her, severely limiting her magic-casting abilities while she questioned every step she took.

Two left turns, three right, and a trip down five flights of questionably stable stairs (because floating slabs of rock in barely illuminated darkness, that's why—what was Haniel Clearwater thinking?) she's rudely dropped approximately two stories down and was flat-out falling to meet her end with the starved serpent waiting at the bottom with nothing but her silent screams and the sound of wind roaring in her ears.

The map is fisted in her right hand, but she manages to sneak a peek at it without letting it fly off. And just like she had expected, all the marks that represented the labyrinth were replaced by a smoky haze.

The mist that was previously clinging to her even when she was falling ten stories down was slowly dissipating; she welcomes the familiar thrum of pure, unadulterated energy coursing through her veins. Another peek reveals that oh, the smoky patch is gone and that tiny white dot must be her and oh, the random black line that just appeared must be the bottom and the dot is approaching that at breakneck speed and if she doesn't do something, anything, she'll be a little more than a blood and flesh pancake at the bottom of a house that isn't even hers anymore, dead and forgotten. Hardly a mage, hardly a knight in a chess game but she's got fire in her veins and steel in her soul, so that's something nobody should ever give up.

_Salvum ventus_, her soul whispers on reflex, and just like that, her fall slows considerably and the wind stops screaming her ears. She lands feet-first, mutters claresco under her breath and her pendant illuminates the massive circular stone chamber she's currently in and she has to blink a few times before she unfurls the map.

It's perfectly blank.

She blinks in confusion this time, runs a shaky hand through wind tossed dirty blond hair, breathes in a sharp breath. Surveys the chamber; regular granite, spiral wall design, water stains on the outer edges. Good. She's still in the premises of the labyrinth and not in some parallel universe. But still—there's only weathered stone surrounding her, save for the black expanse above her.

"This is impossible," she says, looking at the map again and again, but it's still blank as the darkness above her is impenetrable despite the numerous light charms she'd cast on her pendant. Her mind frantically puts the floating stairs scenario on loop, thinking _oh gods what if there were steps that I missed stupid enchantments and_—

—there's a draft in the room.

She tries to quell the yes yes there's an exit feeling blossoming in her chest but her feet walk her over to the crack in the far wall and she hesitantly places her free hand on the crack.

Nothing happens.

Two rejections in a day is something she's not settling for, and deep down, there's something telling her that _yes, there's something and if you think magic just tells you where it is, you're still that naive little girl from yesterday_.

Well, fine. She closes her eyes and focuses on the electric thrum, willing it to just reach out and there. She feels it. Feels the heavy magic guarding the surrounding stones, sees the faintly glowing runes behind her eyelids. A little more, and then her hands involuntarily trace them, running spells through her mind. She feels her mana necklace burn her skin as places both hands on the stone, willing it to just—

_Aperio_

Her soul burns and she snaps her eyes open; previously concealed runes flare to life, glowing unearthly blue. There's runes marked hide, protect, repel, and a dozen different more, but that's not what makes her brows scrunch together.

It's the fact that it's been too easy.

It's the fact that she wasn't killed by the stone gargoyles that guarded the catacomb entrance, the fact that she managed to annihilate the whole army of skeletons with a thirst for blood (fresh blood, they'd screamed in her mind) with fire spells and the fact that the map that was currently tucked in her leather jacket pocket was real and true and led her in the right direction through the labyrinth hallways...

She swallows, knowing what she probably had to face once she was done with these runes.

_Deleo_

The surface of the stone crumbles and she jumps back, boots skidding on the floor. The crack widens until it's wide enough to fit a person. She aims her moonstone pendant at the crack, channeling all the light into a beam but the darkness remains the same and it's then that she knows she'll be probably screwed when she steps in.

The crack all but screams _danger danger danger, after all._

But then again, she's Max and she's brash and brave and reckless, all act now and think later, and when there's a challenge there will be no backing down. She thinks of Maya, thinks about her mother and how nice it would be if she conquered whatever lay ahead and got to see them again. Thinks of how revenge would taste once she'd harnessed the power that lay five steps away and how nice it'll be to bring her family back together.

"This is it, Max," she whispers as five steps turn to one. The ominous feeling increases tenfold but she steels her resolve and closes the distance. "For them."

* * *

She's falling again. But instead of falling through darkness, she's falling through a tunnel of fire _so why don't the flames burn_? And oh gods were those faces _talking to her_? She sees severed human heads and cutoff limbs being swallowed up as she lets gravity have its way _but they know my name and I can hear them in my head_.

Max whips out the map, but the flames consume it the minute she tries to unfold it and that's when the fire really burns her, white hot flames licking at her soul.

She screams and very nearly faints when a head gets too close and she sees her panic reflected in the empty eye sockets.

_This is only the beginning, Maxine Calestra Clearwater,_ it says. _Sweet dreams._

"What?" She questions. "Did you just wish me sweet dreams and why would you say—"

The fires extinguish, and she is alone.

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Her name is Maxine Calestra Clearwater, four years of age. She is a happy dirty blond, living in a old stone mansion on the outskirts of Calesia Pavillion. She has a wonderful caring mother and a lovely two year old sister but where is father? Her mother tells her that father is not here but loves her very much and she is four so she soaks it up; it is the most wonderful feeling in the world—

She is six, and she likes long walks on the windy walkways in the city built on a mountain face. Chants of _Glory To Alberdawn_ fill the morning air and oh, she loves the feel of the wind in her hair and it's the most wonderful feeling in the—

She is eight and her mother refuses to enroll her in St. Xavian's Academy for young mages. She whines and begs and pleads, saying how lovely and great it would be for her to finally harness her magic so she could ride the wind like those kids who lived down at the base of the mountain. Her mother shakes her head and says that one day, she could do that but for now, _mother will teach you_ and it's the most wonderful feeling in—

She is eleven and she is playing around with a conjured whirlwind with Maya in the garden. She makes it pick up autumn leaves and swirls them all around while Maya claps her nine-year-old-hands telling her, with stars in her eyes, _how cool and awesome that is_ and _wow Max is such a fun sister_. It's the most wonderful feeling—

She is thirteen when she finally enters St. Xavian's Academy and she knows when to harden her mask or clench her fists when someone throws a look her way and says, _oh look, it's the Clearwater girl, from the disgraced noble family and all_. She holds her head high and studies in the library when everyone is experimenting with magic and getting high off of the rush of mana. There is no way to hide the smirk on her face when she aces the rune test whereas everyone fails; it's the most wonderful—

She is fifteen when she is top of her class and whispers of _no way, Clearwater must be cheating swirl around the school_. She holds Maya's hand as she walks her sister to class and tells the younger girl to take the insults and turn it into armor. _Because little sister, _she says_, it's the only way to survive_. When it's lunch, they're sitting in their corner table and Maya asks _why do people hate us so much we didn't do anything wrong _and she can only shrug and say, _it's not because of what our family has done, it's because of who we are_. Maya blinks and tells her that if she has mom and Max, everything will be alright and it's the most—

She is sixteen when the war hits. She doesn't know why she's so surprised; she's known that his would happen one day. Alberdawn is up in flames, Calesia Pavillion is up in flames, the whole Magical Plain is up in flames and her mother herds them to the basement. Dashes her necklace to the ground, whispers the words that take them away, away from Alberdawn and their cursed bloodline and into the Mortal Realm and it's the—

She is seventeen when the Council members hunt them down. She is in her junior year of highschool when one day, there's no home to go home to anymore. Maya squeezes her hand when a solemn-looking fireman explains that their house is unsalvageable but their mother is okay and safe safe safe. Her heart lifts a little and it's—

Her name is Maxine Calestra Clearwater, eighteen years of age. It is her birthday when she wipes herself from her mother and sister's memories and sends them far away with new identities and memories, saying _I'm sorry I'm sorry_ to an unlit birthday cake. They become Valerie and Maybelle Ride, single mother and teenage daughter. When the Council breaks into their empty house, she is already outside and burns it down it with a simple flick of her wrist. She doesn't have any feelings left anymore.

She's still eighteen when she lands herself back in Alberdawn, right in front of her first home. It's been converted into a Council Hall (oh the irony, she thinks) and a map is clutched in her right hand, retribution as the only goal in mind.

Around her, the war rages on and the blood rune on her back burns with the heat of a thousand fires.

* * *

She jerks awake, eyes snapping open as the dream—

Wait.

She's lying on her side, curled in the fetal position, and it's still dark but there's something heavy and cold on her arms. One hand hesitantly touches the other and it's something unmistakably metal. Realization mixed with panic is not something someone wants to wake up from and this is no exception.

She thrashes in her chains, searches for the thrum in her veins, whispers exsolvo, resolvo, dimitte, but the energy in her veins fades into background noise with the last word. She tries and tries and tries but soon, she's feeling the strain in her soul but no, she can't give up now.

"It's brass, m'dear. No use in struggling."

She instinctively whips her head in the direction of the voice...if that even was a voice. It sounded like a hundred people murmuring all at once and she notes the way the floor vibrates under her. Definitely not a good sign.

"Who are you?" She yells into the darkness. "And am I that much of a threat that you have to chain me up?"

Oops. Not exactly what she wanted to say, but too late to take it back now.

There's a laugh, or what she hopes is a laugh. The sound is reverberating through the empty expanse, and she thinks she sees a red glint somewhere off.

"_Child_." Mocking, now. "It's more for your safety. Wouldn't want you stumbling around in the darkness, hmmm?" The voice is hard to pinpoint now it, sounding like the buzzing of flies. A million of them, high up in the blackness, mocking her, waiting for a stupid move so that—

"Okay, fine. I get it. So I highly doubt you've chained me up just so we could talk," she yells, and her voice bounces back to her. Okay. Definitely a big room.

Another laugh.

"You're right. I haven't," the voice says. "I have other plans in store. I mean, with such a tragic past, you'll need something to help fix your problems."

Great. Another test. And this time, she knows that it'll be a challenge. But she's Max and she's brains and brawn, takes what she can get, and she'll deal with the disaster head-on.

"So what do you want me to—"

The room is suddenly engulfed in a hazy red light, and when her eyes refocus again she sees that it's the size of a football field. There's shadows with glowing ruby eyes lining the walls, and shit shit shit there's no way she can possibly fight all of them. It'll be a miracle if she even manages to get rid of the heavy brass chains handcuffing her wrists but by then...

She looks up and sees the shadows slowly advancing at a leisurely pace, biding their time, probably thinking, she's not going anywhere anytime soon.

_They're right. She's not._

Scared now, Maxine Calestra Clearwater? she hears in her head. It'll be such a shame to see you go down in a fight, so you should probably call your demon.

_What what what demon what—_

_Another laugh. Silly girl. That's why you're here, right? To break the blood rune on your back. You've succeeded so far, but whether you'll be able to control him is a different story._

_But but I thought—_

_You're a Clearwater girl, of cursed blood, of a disgraced family. Your ancestors have been dancing with the devil for a millennia. So why stop now?_

The voice goes silent and she can only watch as the shadows advance, thinking, great advice, _but how am I supposed to do that?_

_Figure it out, top of your class._

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**notes3:** Yeah. This just came to me one day.


	2. my blood, it's on your blade

**notes:** I know I have other stuff to update but this happened /sorry not sorry I guess

**notes2:** _Primus elementum: first element_

_Anima incendium: burning of the soul_

_Ventum est, dabit mihi pinnas: wind, give me wings_

—google translate

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::::: **02.** my blood, _it's on your blade_ :::::

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**Magic: An Introduction to Arcane**

Property of St. Xavier's Academy, Calesia Pavillion

Grimoire, Recompiled

Excerpt—page 30, Chapter 2

_...Arcane branches out into eight primary elements: earth, water, fire, wind, dark, and light...elements are correlated by advantages and disadvantages. By applying the elemental wheel, we can take note that fire » ice » wind » earth » lightning » water » fire; light «» dark._

_A mage can only master one element at a time and make it their primus elementum; basic proficiency on the remaining seven is required...Spells are a manifestation of concentrated elemental energy and a fledgling mage should stray from overexerting themselves (practicing with high-mana consuming spells, continuous usage of healing runes, etc.), for they may be in danger of anima incendium..._

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She's felt panic and fear. Felt them the day when she'd realized that there was no such thing as safe anymore when she sees flames outside the mansion and finding out angry neighbors were at the top of her things-to-worry-about list (_your yard's not going to be the only thing damaged next time_, they said).

Or the time the Council chased them down in a barren countryside road in the middle of the night, ten mages to three, hopelessly outnumbered. Max remembers fear in her mother's eyes, but it's quickly replaced by steel in the moonlight. Remembers her saying, _this is the end of the line. Take Maya and go_. She feels it then, as strongly as ever. But she _can't_ and she _won't_ because you can't abandon family like that. You _don't_. To do so would be the worst of sins.

_This is an order, Max. As a mage to another, I'd like you know that. But as a mother, I'd like to see both of you alright when I come back._

The Council was closing in then; deep inside, she knows. _This is the end of the line_. Maya's hand tightening against her own, grip like iron, fingers like ice. _Checkmate_.

_Fine_, she'd said with tear streaked cheeks and despair in her eyes. Sixteen and broken._ You said when. Not if. I'll be holding that to you, mom_.

And then she runs, but not without feeling a slight rumble below her feet. She takes a glance back and sees a flash of red, near where her mother kneels in the face of the enemy. Sees the shadowy figure emerge from the circle of red, sees the Council freeze in their attacks. Hears accusatory shouts and the thrum of electricity through the previously calm air, and _knows_. Looks at Maya and wonders how her sister became so much better at hiding emotions, but the tremble in intertwined hands betrays her.

_Come on, Max. Let's fly_.

_Right_, she says, swallowing her fear. _Ventum est, dabit mihi pinnas_.

She feels the familiar warm rush and leaps up, beautiful translucent wings catching a thermal and bearing them high up into the night sky. She can't see the battle anymore, but she can definitely feel it in her bones.

But that was two and a half years ago.

Her mother had come to them three sunrises later, and she'd never asked about how now they were now true enemies and suspected traitors in the eyes of the Council. Never asked more about the blood rune that was deeply etched in angry red on her lower back, never talked about that night, period.

She should have, in case she'd ever hit rock bottom and was stuck in a cavern with no way out with demons who apparently had penchants for squirming victims. And oh yeah, chained up in brass chains with cuffs that were as thick as her ankles.

Max tugs resolutely on said chains, almost at the end of her line now. Reaches for her feet, for her twin silver daggers strapped to her boots. The advancing demons were five feet, four feet away. _Too many for you to fight_, her mind screams. _You'll be gone before they completely surround you_.

_Call your demon, call your demon, _callyourfreakingdemon—

Three feet, two feet—

—_checkmate_.

She jumps back when the first one strikes, whipping her daggers behind her on instinct for that one demon who probably thought itself as clever for striking when she's currently being attacked. The streak of ruddy maroon on silver tells her that she'd hit home, and she dodges the claw that swipes at her head. Or as much dodging she could manage, because screw those chains.

"Fuck me sideways," she grinds out as she blocks a blow to her chest. Spinning on her heels, she manages to stab one in the arm and it hisses in fury. Before she can slash at the other, a demon grabs at her chains and hurls her face-down to the floor. She barrel rolls, shakily climbing back on her feet as the shackles become taut. The demons flicker, slowly becoming more humanoid, rather jagged blobs of red eyes, yellow claws and teeth.

Translation: a hundred times more hideous and dangerous. She also reads it as finally, we're getting down to business.

Then they jump her all at once.

She's a flurry of silver and fury, fending off strikes as best as she can (read: not much) and she's sure the adrenaline rush is the only thing keeping her from feeling the crimson that was currently blossoming across her abdomen.

A demon manages to land a slashing blow on her lower back, and she can only brace herself as her legs fold and she tumbles forward, twisting her body to land on her side. Her whole torso feels wet and she grips her daggers, eyeing the demons that conveniently stopped to admire their quick handiwork of a mage painting the floor bright crimson.

She's exhausted—not that she'll ever admit it, but the physical strain on her tired muscles is enough to make her give up...almost.

Her mind is screaming colorful expletives at her and if she tries, she can almost, almost touch the fire that burns in her soul. She can almost see it; bloodied hands reaching for that pool of pure, unaltered energy—

—and she touches the blood rune on her back, knowing that it's probably shredded skin now but she lifts her head and notices how her blood flows in tiny rivers, ignoring the ruts in the stone floor and carving their own design, red lines and symbols she'd only seen in forbidden tomes.

The other demons don't attack, stopped by the scarlet circle around her.

She knows now.

The floor shakes, rumbles, and splits into rifts. The demons fall back as the cavern ceiling begins to fall, chunks of stone haphazardly dropping down to crush whatever unfortunate being (Max/demon ratio: 1:300, so whew) and she stifles a giggle as she watches a particularly large hunk crush a group of huddled demons.

And because karma is a bitch, a chunk nearly turns her head into brain soup if she didn't manage to roll over just in time. She kneels on shaky feet, only to turn and see the back of a shaggy black head, casually sitting criss-cross-applesause in the center of her accidental summoning circle.

As if he senses her looking at him, he turns around and shoots her an appraising look and she can't do anything else but stare because nobody should be legally allowed to be that good-looking—flawless olive skin, angled jaw, and that body because apparently demons saw no need for public decency as he's freaking shirtless—and she notes that a matching blood rune is partially covered by the waistband of his black pants.

"Shame. That chunk was supposed to hit you." The moment all ruined when he opens his mouth, however. She gapes at him, mind sluggishly but surely processing the seven words that he'd just said.

"You're an ass," she spits back as soon as her mind resumes control. If this was really her demon, she'd sooner send him back to the Underworld before he could make another jab at her situation because honestly, she would've loved to kick his shirtless demonic self if if weren't for the brass chains around her wrists.

He smirks. Is that how you thank someone for saving your life killing all those low-level demons?" he shoots back in a patronizing tone, lazily stretching and standing up in one smooth motion. She schools her features into a perfectly blank expression averting her eyes because no, she was totally not looking at that expanse of toned skin he had to offer above those frayed jeans. The ceiling finally stops falling and she finds her footing again among the puddles of blood and rubble, biting back an exasperated sigh.

If this was what her predecessors had to put up with, she'd wondered how they were able to keep their sanity in check.

* * *

The Clearwater mage was a storm on the horizon—all vengeance and disaster, sharp as glass with bitter eyes; he wonders how it'll feel to have her soul on a platter. So sure, his first comment was uncalled for (_not_), but he can't help it if she had extremely bad timing and he was having a good time in an upscale bar in London, kicking back shots with Iggy—

"Were you born stupid?" she counters in reply, motioning to the crushed black masses that were slowly reforming, "because I highly doubt you killed them."

—and that everything would be oh-so-boring if they got off on the right foot.

He shrugs, raising his arms in the universal _whatever_ gesture. "Not exactly my problem, is it?" The demons were regaining form now, re-attaching severed limbs and returning to the fight with another degree of bloodthirst. "And silver? I see that you came adequately equipped."

He watches as she looses a dagger to two demons. "Last resort." She barely manages to sidestep another low-level and slashes at its heart with her remaining one. "Do me a huge favor and cut these chains off me, will you?"

He responds by lazily ripping the heart out of a low level that decided to stray too close to him. "Careful. You're pushing your luck; I can only perform one nice deed per day."

The mage fends off demons before landing in a defensive stance right beside him. "One nice deed, huh? Sorry, but the whole grand entrance with the-ceiling-is-falling doesn't cut it."

Huh. Then so be it; he's kinda tired of this fighting demons left and right thing, anyway. He motions for her to hold out her hands and cuts the cuffs clear out with his custom Salachite crystal dagger tucked in his belt. She draws in a long, steady breath as the chains fall away and he's awarded with a tiny smile, a small quirk of her lips, really.

"Ha...well...thank you...?"

"Fang," he supplies helpfully. He gives her the least common one out of many and she only raises a brow in question, offering a stilted "Max" in return.

The remaining demons decide to advance on them all at once and he feels the unmistakable crackle of magic in the air. The barely-there draft in the room erupts into a full-blown tornado as it sweeps all the remaining demons up into the air, with a wave of her arms it dashes everything to the ground and the cavern is silent, demonic essences seeping back into the cracks.

"I'm not done yet," she murmurs, half to herself. "Too easy..."

He snorts, settling down on a piece of fallen ceiling. "You don't say. I think you should call out to Aeshma or something so you can finish the final stage in your trial."

He's met with more silence and the quizzical look on her face makes him sigh. "You don't really know why you came down here, do you?"

Max shakes her head, blonde strands becoming undone from her loose ponytail. "All I knew was that I had to make it to my basement, through the eternally fucked up labyrinth, and into here to break the blood rune on my back to form a contract with a demon," she says, looking pointedly at him, "and that's pretty much all I know."

"And they call you top of your class?" he drawls, nodding at her crookedly pinned badge on her jacket collar, ignoring the "jerk" muttered under her breath. "Anyway, the reason why you've been all through these trails is because they're shaped around your intentions—revenge. I'm a High-level Wrath demon. Aeshma is the Prince of Wrath demons, who was probably the one who walked you through...and is probably the one just waiting to see to bleed out on the floor in the last test."

She shifts on her feet, boots scraping stone, kicking a stray piece of rock into a rift. They don't hear the resounding thud and she instinctively takes a couple of steps back, eyeing the faint red glow that's radiating from the fissure. "So—"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence when the cavern begins shaking again more forcefully than before, and she is thrown to the floor, landing on her side and painfully jarring her left shoulder in the process a few seconds before the stone floor caves into itself and they drop one full story into the fire he knows waits below.

He regains his footing rather quickly, jumping over piles of stone and rubble until he reaches her prone form, nestled between two particularly large chunks of stone. Max groans and hauls herself up—grimacing when she rubs her left shoulder—and warily looks around, noting the way the air is tinged with red and the whole cavern resembles a deep sinkhole filled with rubble one would normally find at the bottom of a landslide.

In that moment, she looks so lost and angry and desperate but there's something about the way her brown eyes narrow in determination and the magic that radiates off of her in waves, saying,_ hit me with your best shot _and that makes him think that maybe she's something else altogether.

And so that's probably why the already fractured floor just erupts, sending slabs of stone and flames flying their way, but a strong blast of wind sends the slab the other way, embers quickly dissipating.

And that's also probably why she doesn't flinch when an enormous black serpent slithers from the floor, obsidian scales glinting in the hazy red light. Scales as black as death, hard as aged dragonscale, and one hundred percent unpierceable armor. Crimson eyes zero in on them and it hisses, baring yellow fangs that promised slow and agonizing death.

He expects her to at least take a few steps back, but Max tilts her head to the side and appraises it. "Huh."

Certainly not _that_.

"Just 'huh?'" he asks incredulously. Max was either incredibly stupid to not realize their current situation or she was putting on a fake (but good) brave facade. "That's a _venenosa nox_. And judging by its fangs, that thing is among the first of its kind."

She grips her remaining silver dagger, knuckles white. "I don't exactly have a choice, right? If I forfeit now, I'll have to give my life lived in vain as an empty payment for blood rune I didn't ask for because I was too scared, too_ weak_," she spits the word out and continues, gaze still locked on his, "I've promised that I would be the one that will end this cursed blood tie and the consequences someone certainly didn't think of when they bargained with demons. And I promised myself that I would be _worthy_."

Max jerks her head to the serpent that was currently rising up from the rubble, almost ready to strike.

"And _you_," she says, "are going to help me slay this thing and prove to Aeshma that I'm not another Clearwater who is, once again, over their head in shit they can't handle."

He smirks at her and his signature purple Hellfire roars beneath his feet, flames licking up his jeans and snaking across his arms to his hands.

"What are we waiting for, then?" he asks, and that's when the serpent strikes.

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**notes3:** I could've posted this sooner, but then I caught a really bad case of stomach flu and felt to sick to do anything, even to go online and post. Sigh.

please review and tell me what you think!


	3. i hear we're in slaughter season

**notes:** Finally returning to this story with renewed motivation because too much sat practice will do that to a girl, apparently.

**notes2:** _sanguinis copulam : blood bond_

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::::: **03.** i hear we're in _slaughter season_ :::::

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**Unidentified Page**

Library, Clearwater Mansion

Unknown, translated from Latin

..._allegedly, blood runes are the product of ancient familial blood ties to demons. The moment a blood contract with a demon is formed, the summoner's bloodline is indebted to that particular line of demons. The contract will remain intact until either participant fails to uphold their own end of the bargain…it should be noted that a contract is a partnership and powers can be shared through the bond that the individuals now share..._

* * *

Max certainly feels like the luckiest girl in the world when the serpent decides to go after her with deadly yellow fangs bared and crimson eyes flashing in the light as she manages to leap out of its way, boots skidding on the ruined floor, heart pounding in her chest. She sprints and leaps over chunks of stone, running over to Fang who blasts a shot of purple Hellfire at it, right between the eyes.

She watches in satisfaction as the flames lick at its eyes, purple devouring red, and the angered shriek it emits echoes in the cavern. The serpent shakes its massive head from side to side, but the fire still faintly burns until she can't see the crimson glint anymore.

"You've pissed it off now," she remarks and turns to Fang. He tips his head to the side in acknowledgement and gestures to the enraged reptile that was currently hissing and thrashing, sending tremors through the cavern. He shrugs and waves a hand in a typical whatever gesture in response to her comment.

"Noxes don't fight well if they're distracted by pain," he says, wisps of Hellfire dancing on the tips of his fingers. "And besides, it's more fun this way." Fang shoots her a _do you think you can handle it loo_k and she tosses her head back and gives him a _game on face,_ because she knows she can do this, knows that even though it's insane, fighting a thousand year old venenosa nox will probably be the most adrenaline inducing event in her life. So far, anyway.

On the other end of the room, the serpent slinks back, body tensing and coiling around itself with its head up in the air. A forked tongue tastes the air and she stills her breath, trying to quell the racing blood in her veins and the magic that sparks at her fingers. Just like how Dreadnaught hunter wolves could smell fear, most serpents could sense magic in the air and pinpoint the location it was emanating from.

She exhales slowly and edges closer to Fang, taking care to tread softly and carefully on the floor, avoiding loose rocks and rubble. "I need—"

She hears the telltale whistle of wind a split second before Fang seizes her right arm and leaps into the air just as a black mass strikes the pile of stone they were standing on, sending parts of the wall crumbling down and loose rocks flying in all directions. They land on a rocky outcrop only to jump off again when the serpent aims for them again. Fang clenches his in jaw in irritation and Hellfire rains down on it, flames of purple burning on black scales, shooting her a look that signals her to think up a spell to disable it or something.

Max knows that there's not much she can actually do except to let this cat and mouse game continue until the Nox finally gets brain damage from smashing its head in stone one too many times or they could stun it somehow to inflict physical damage. This was certainly one of those moments where she curses the heavens and wonders why wasn't she born as an ice or lightning mage so that she could wield the two most destructive elements of magic. The battle could be over now if she did; the serpent would be riddled with scorch marks from lighting strikes or stabbed with a thousand icicles by now from a conjured snowstorm. Or frozen solid.

Instead, she's a wind mage and the only thing wind mages could really do in combat was summon destructive tornadoes and have the genuine ability to fly, gaining the upper hand in aerial combat if worst comes to worst. That was as far as the list went for her, unless 'diverting random objects flying towards your way' counted—which meant she was more or less dead weight in this fight, and she absolutely loathes that feeling. The long repressed feelings of years of being overlooked and shunned because of who she was and not seen as what she was capable of bubbles up in her chest and she glances at Fang who was preoccupied with the Nox. She waits until they're on stable ground and the Nox was writhing around, trying to free itself from chains of purple Hellfire.

"Fang." Max feels his death grip around her arm loosen as he turns his head slightly to look at her through the corner of his eyes. "Lend me your strength," she says, "and I'll lend you my magic."

She has his full attention to her now as he whips around to fully face her. "I don't think you don't know what you're asking for, Clearwater."

"No," she replies, voice steeled in resolve. Her eyes cut to his and she raises her chin. "I do. Very much so."

Fang shakes his head and points at the Nox, almost free of its chains. "As much as I'd like to be free of this contract with you, dying because you want to prove yourself so badly isn't the way to go."

Max raises a brow. "Careful, or else I'll think you care about me more than you're letting on," she says, ignoring his sardonic look. "And besides, I don't have a choice. We both know that you can do more when you're not hanging onto me."

He breathes out a sigh. "Mages. Always stubborn until the very end."

She finds his hand and grips it, feeling the tiny jolt of magic sparking up her arms and the demonic energy through the currently burning rune on her back. Max flashes him a self-deprecating grin—

"If I do go, then at least you'll be leaving here with a story to tell, right?"

—and her soul whispers the spell that may or may not kill her.

_Sanguinis copulam_.

* * *

The connection almost sends crashing down on her knees if it weren't for Fang's hold on her, yanking her back up to her feet; she can her her blood roaring in her ears. She feels like her soul is being cleaved in half and her elemental reserves are burning up, draining her dry of magic. Max squeezes her eyes shut and is struck by a feeling of vertigo that makes her world spin on its axis, makes her head throb in the most aggravating way. And as if that wasn't torture enough, demonic essence surges into her body, overriding all her other senses and it's nearly enough to make her want to empty her stomach.

_Death_, she finds herself thinking through a daze, _would be such a welcoming thing now._

Magic steadily drains simultaneously out of her as darkness floods in. She hears a million whispers and snatches of shrieking laughter in the furthest corners of her mind. It's unnerving and when the pain finally subsides to a dull ache in her bones, something cold brushes against her hands and her eyes snap open, only to see that she was standing alone in the middle of a dimly lit hallway filled with the faint noise of banging on the walls.

_You_.

Her skin prickles and she whips around, spying the shadowy form at the very end of the hallway. It looks like a shapeless void but as she watches as spidery legs emerge but she doesn't stay still long enough to watch its full transformation. Max breaks into a run and tries to ignore the fact that the hallway grows darker or the banging on the walls is amplified the more she runs.

Something grabs her leg and her heart nearly stops, thinking that the thing had grabbed her, but it turns out to be a one dessicated hand out of many sprouting out of the floor.

She can't choke back her scream and the shrill voices in her head only explode in maniacal laughter. Kicking at the hand with her free leg until it lets so, she's scrambling back to her feet the second all the closed doors in the hallway burst open and it is suddenly pitch black and she's running through what feels like a swarm of flies.

_Running_, disjointed voices tells her, _is futile_.

Max only runs faster, ignoring the beating of a million tiny wings against her face and the crunching of bones beneath her boots. _You think you know what you're running from, but do you even know what you're running to?_

_Does it matter?_

There is a pause, and then: _watch your step._

_Great tip_, she snarks back, _but if only I could _actually_ see—_

Her right foot meets empty air and she pitches forward, hands flailing, and she thinks that she's had enough of falling in life the minute she plunges into sea of purple fire with thousands of empty, soulless faces fading in and out, staring at her through the flames.

She hauls herself up and looks away, eyes falling on a black figure several feet away from her.

_Will you let me in_? Her eyes widen—Fang's voice. _Will you let me in in even though, even though_—

_Yes_.

The world goes black and the voices in her head fade into the background.

* * *

Her eyes snap back open and she's back in the cavern with Fang again, both of their hands still clasped together. She blinks a few times until she feels his gaze burning in the side of her head and she turns to him, meeting his scrutinizing gaze.

"What?" It comes out as an accusation.

Fang shakes his head and gestures at the newly-freed serpent, hissing in anger and triumph. She's glad that no time had passed since the exchange.

"Tell you later. We have a serpent to slay."

They untangle their hands and she feels a renewed surge of power, electrifying and deadly. So when the Nox lashes out at them again, she dodges on her own and is impressed with her rapid movements now. Combined with the rush of adrenaline that spikes up, she runs towards the serpent, swiftly dodging its return strike and slices a vertical line at its soft underbelly with a flash of silver. There's a sharp hiss and she evades the glint of deadly yellow fangs a full second before they snap at her. Her own magic sparks at her fingertips and she summons a whirlwind that picks up all the loose stones on the floor and flings it at the Nox.

The hairs at the back of her neck prickle and she moves to the right just as a streak of purple flies past her, hitting the Nox square in its chest. It rears back in pain but aims for Fang nonetheless.

And in that moment, she has the pleasure of watching Fang physically fight and admires his (shirtless) form, admires his fluid movements and the precision of each hit. She also winces when Fang sends a punch to the Nox's head, sending the creature crashing into stone walls. The sound echoes through the entire cavern and she almost doesn't hear the plea that sounds in her head.

_I surrender_.

She jerks her head and looks at the serpent, now deathly still and facing her direction.

_What_?

Fang seems to sense that there's something going on and is back at her side in a flash.

_If she be worthy_, it says, _and you are._

_I don't understand_.

The Nox tilts its head. _I have been here ever since Haniel Clearwater built his mansion on my grounds and proclaimed me as guardian. Only the worthy would ever pass, he said, and you are._

_Okay_, she thinks awkwardly. _I guess you're spared._

And just like that, it slinks away back towards the rift, sending a final look over its shoulder before the ground swallows it completely.

"What was that about?" Fang asks her with a bewildered look on his face. He runs a hand through shaggy black locks and stares at the now closed rift. "It just decided to stop fighting."

She tears her eyes away from his bare torso and meets his eyes, ignoring the way his mouth quirks, noticing her ogling.

"It told me that I was worthy and that its job was complete."

He makes a noise of acceptance and jogs over to what looks like a pile of boulders, picking up a small, spherical stone, waving her over. "It left you a gift."

"A gift?" She takes a step in his direction but falls to her knees as a wave of dizziness takes over and the world turns fuzzy at the edges of her vision. She doesn't need to put a hand to her forehead to know that she's burning up and before she completely collapses, hands are hauling her up to feet and steadying her when she sways on her feet.

"Max." She blinks with difficulty and tries to hold Fang's gaze. "Cut off the bond."

She manages to nod but gods, she couldn't focus no matter how hard she tried. There's tears in her eyes she feels herself fading away from the world to a place of nothingness.

"Max, just look at me." Fang shakes her a little just to keep her from closing her eyes completely. "Think of where you went when I asked to to let me in, and then I'll take it from there. I'll take care of everything else. Promise."

She believes him.

* * *

She's standing in that dark hallway again, but it's eerily quite this time, no banging on the walls, no voices in her head. There's a tug on her soul and she turns around, expecting something to jump out at her but nothing does.

Until, of course, she turns back around and the shadowy figure with the spidery legs is several feet away.

Even if she had the energy, Max doesn't run away this time. It scuttles closer to her, closer and closer until she can see the million red eyes that seem to pierce through her.

_You promised that you would take care of everything, Fang,_ she thinks.

Purple Hellfire suddenly engulfs the creature and she blocks out the screams that sound inside her head. Max smiles faintly as the flames smolder down and the hallway grows lighter by the second.

_I did_, she thinks she hears before she completely fades back, _and I always keep my promises._

* * *

Max doesn't wake up and he sighs, seeing no other choice but to carry her out of the cavern. He carries her bridal-style and her head is tucked between the crook of his head and neck, breath tickling loose strands of hair. It's almost endearing, if it wasn't for their current situation. Fang knows that he couldn't simply expect to walk out of here unscathed; he senses the static crackle of magic beyond the chamber. The Council of Twenty One, one of the reasons why Max's soul was a barren wasteland, desolate and bleak.

It'll only be a matter of time before they found the entrance to this chamber, but hopefully by then he'll have a gate opened to the Mortal Plain.

_Son_.

A voice like thousands of droning flies fills his mind.

"Father," he replies aloud out of respect. He hopes this wasn't a discussion about his current contract, because he'd decided that he could be stuck with worse mages.

_Her soul is bitter. Sad. There's also an emptiness in it that rings hollow._

He raises a brow. Since when did his father stop asking when he was looking forward to eating the souls of the damned?

_Break the cycle_, he hears, very faintly, _and maybe this time it'll be right._

He knows.

_On another note, you should probably get a move on because the Council is right outside the door. Best to summon a gate right now._

He feels Aeshma's demonic essence fade away and he concentrates on opening a gate to the Mortal Plain. Purple Hellfire roars to live beneath his feet and spreads around him in a summoning circle, demonic energy crackling in the air.

Fang ignores the deafening blast of crumbling stone in the opposite end of the cavern, blocks out the shouts of "Demon!" and focuses on a penthouse suite in another world. The cavern begins to fade from his sight as the magic takes effect, and he turns around, shifting Max onto his shoulders just to give the advancing mages the one fingered salute.

The thought of home never seemed so comforting, but he's pretty sure Iggy and the others would demand to know why he suddenly poofed out of existence during shots and then having to compel mortals at the bar that they were simply imagining things.

But at least he'll have a story to tell.

* * *

**notes3:** I need to work on my action scenes. Anyway, I couldn't bring myself to make Max and Fang kill the serpent because it kinda grew on me when I was writing about it, haha. Explanations and stuff will come in the next chapter.


	4. i am a shipwreck on the shores of loss

**notes:** Or, the chapter where shit gets cleared up (mostly) and people jump into way too many conclusions. Includes prophetic dreams and character musings. Enjoy.

**notes2:** Thanks to everyone who remotely showed interest in this story&amp;special thanks to FleckedWings90900 for reading this over xx

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::::: **04\. **i am a shipwreck _on the shores of loss_ :::::

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* * *

Fractured Memory

_Max can't remember how many times she'd told herself to stay strong, but it doesn't matter anyway since the girl reflected in the mirror is a glassy-eyed, dirty blond in a pale imitation of confidence. Cold hands grip the edges of the porcelain sink and she leans in until she can see the bags under her eyes and the light freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. _

_She'd been called pretty, once, but that was a time before anyone knew who she was. Way back to when she was seventeen and wasn't burning bridges. _

_She splashes water on her face and breathes in a couple of deep, calming breaths before drying herself and walking out of the restroom, back into the cafe where she reclaims her seat two tables away from another girl enjoying breakfast croissants and morning coffee with the early sunshine filtering through the window. _

_She sighs and turns back to her own muffin, taking tasteless bites and swallowing it down with tea while idly flipping through the town newspaper. There's an article on some like of global conspiracy and she's so engrossed in the story that she doesn't notice someone sliding down in the seat across from her until a coffee cup appears next to her tea. _

_"I thought you looked lonely."_

_Her head snaps up and when she finally registers who's sitting across from her, the sun suddenly sets in the east and she forgets how to breathe. _

_A dirty blond with sparkling hazel eyes set in a face that's practically burned into the back of her eyelids whenever she closes her eyes is enough to make her heart clench in ways she's only felt once before._

_She never thought she'd feel it again so soon._

_"I...well, thanks," Max says as soon as she regains some of her composure. She folds her newspaper and sets it aside, hands suddenly clasped under the table, crescent marks slowly forming on her palms. "I'm Max," she adds, closing her eyes for the response she's sure to follow. _

_She doesn't need to open them again to see the smile on the other girl's face. _

_"I'm Maybelle."_

* * *

Max dreams.

She dreams of fires burning empires down to the ground and that the smoke she inhales from the ruins choke her lungs and cage the spaces between her lungs. She's coughing on her knees in front of a crumbling palace facade and she finds herself crawling away from the embers that begin to lick at her hands; when ash begins to fall from the sky, Max finally stumbles to her feet and runs into the palace and away from the flames.

Her feet carry her down flights of stone stairs and down a dimly lit narrow corridor until she finally sees a wooden door at the very end. The wood is rough and old beneath her fingers and she gingerly grasps the cold iron handle and pushes against the tiny part of herself that tells her to run the other way.

The door swings open silently—easily, as if it was expecting her—and the scene before her is unlike the burning world she had just escaped. It's a castle courtyard complete with willow trees and soft green grass, laid out underneath a starry sky. It's quiet and calm and peaceful; Max gapes openly at the scenery until she spots a few glowing balls of light behind a cluster of willow trees across the clearing. Although her skin prickles at the familiar feeling of magic that's heavy in the air, this time it's unsettling rather comforting.

She keeps to the treeline, not wanting to tread openly, and eventually makes her way across the courtyard. Pushing away willow leaves in an effort to reveal the balls of light only results in finding herself in front of a black-cloaked figure, head bowed, sitting at a black and white checkered table littered with crystal orbs and lit candles, shuffling what seems to be a deck of cards.

Her throat suddenly becomes dry and her voice comes out scratchy when she mumbles a greeting.

There's no immediate response and Max takes a few steps closer until she's almost standing in front of the table and sees ghostly shapes in the crystal orbs. The figure ignores her and continues shuffling the deck, then picking out cards and laying them face up across the table, one card per square. Ace of Hearts, Two of Clubs, Queen of Spades—

"Excuse me—" she begins, but is cut off when the figure abruptly stands up and stares straight at her, revealing empty eye sockets set in an abnormally pale face framed with white hair. She's not sure if she should stick around to maybe listen to what it has to say or just punch it the face and run the Hell away, but the former wins out.

Her legs feel like lead, anyway.

"Maxine Calestra Clearwater," it rasps, "you don't know what you're dealing with."

She knows it's probably not a good time to provoke the thing, but her mouth wins out anyway. "So you say."

A white skeletal hand reaches out and picks up a crystal, turning it in a way that the moonlight could clearly illuminate the smoky shapes in it.

Then it suddenly clears and she sees the world from when she was outside the palace, on her knees in a burning, ruined world. It's beautiful in a dark and wretched way but Max can't seem to draw her eyes away no matter how much she wants to.

"Your story," it says, offering it to her with an outstretched hand, "will never be kind."

Max shakes her head, tucking her hands behind her back, thinking that this isn't really the path she wants but it'll be so easy to fall and say yes.

"No," she replies, but her voice is shaky and unsure. "And I don't want it."

The figure still doesn't draw back its hand and an almost pitying smile—sharp teeth with colder edges—makes its way to its face.

"Oh," it says, "but you already do." And then it drops the ball to the table where it shatters into a million shards, glacier blue, sharp and striking, glittering like fallen stars. "Very much so."

The last thing Max thinks of before the figure sweeps all the candles down and setting the clearing on fire was that maybe, she should've listened to her conscience and ran the other way.

* * *

She wakes up in a cold sweat, breath wild and airy. Her mind is still fuzzy and she feels disoriented and the remains of purple Hellfire dancing across her vision. Max just kind of blinks her eyes and waits for the world to slow down a bit so she could take some time to recollect her thoughts without being left too far behind.

Max remembers the fight with the Nox and the bond with Fang and about how it's strange that she doesn't remember ever coming out of the cavern and—

Oh.

She blinks again until her eyes finally begin to focus again and it comes to her attention that she's lying on a bed with black and silver sheets without her boots and leather jacket, leaving her with a tank and jeans. Max slowly sits up, lazily stretching sore muscles and looks around the room. After looking around for a while, the only thing she could come up with to describe it was that it was dark. Black curtains drawn over the windows, dark wood floors, cool brushed metallic walls, all with nods to classic modern century architecture and the furniture wasn't far from the theme: blocky grey leather sofas in the middle of the room, positioned around an iron and glass coffee table to the abstract paintings hung on the walls. Everything radiated coldness and perfection and everything had a place; there wasn't anything remotely homely and lived-in.

Typical for a demon, she muses, and decides that it would be a great time to figure out where she was and maybe find the bathroom so she could take a much-needed shower.

The minute she walks out the door and of the room in her socks, Max nearly crashes into a chrome railing and she is not prepared for the panoramic nighttime view of some city metropolis skyline the floor-to-ceiling windows offer her. Her hands grip the railing and she looks down at the first-story down below and decides that she's done being surprised at the fact that Fang not only apparently owned a penthouse suite, his sense of home decor really needed work.

Max sighs and heads for the stairs to the right, deciding that a little bit of exploring along the way would definitely make the trip to the bathroom—wherever it was—wouldn't hurt.

* * *

The club is still packed when Fang makes his way to the bar where Iggy was currently chatting up two blondes in identical fire engine red cocktail dresses. He shoulders through the crowd gathered on the dance floor and orders a Bombay and tonic before sliding over to Iggy, who somehow sends the blondes away giggling and to the dance floor.

"What was that about?"

Iggy whirls around in his seat, clutching a half-full Amber glass in his hand, blue eyes wide and accusing.

"That was about when you decided to poof out of existence and left me to deal with the unfortunate witnesses, Fang. How very generous of me, I know, but someone's gotta do these things."

He rolls his eyes at Iggy and takes the seat next to the blond, readying himself for his explanation that he's sure will follow in the next few seconds and he's not wrong.

"Now would be a great time to start, you know," Iggy calls over the beat of the music. "So who's your charge this time?"

Fang downs half of his drink and pulls out a small, smooth spherical egg out of the small pocket of Hellfire conjured under the table, showing it to Iggy.

"What does this look like?"

Iggy pretends to think and shrugs with multicolored lights dancing across his face. "An abnormally large and gray golf ball?"

Fang snorts. "The most I'm giving you is points on creativity. Now try again."

Iggy reaches for it and takes it in his hands, turning it this way and that until he blinks and puts it back down on the table.

"It's a serpent egg. Notchis Serpantin branch, I'm guessing, but this egg is really old, almost fossilized."

"Close enough," he answers, and makes it vanish in a blaze of purple. "Venenosa Nox, actually. One of the originals."

Iggy slams his glass down seconds before finishing it, shooting him an incredulous look. "Don't tell me—"

The blond blinks and scratches his head, disbelief still clouding his face. "A _Clearwater_. No fucking way, Fang. You might just destroy the family once and for all, if this contract runs through."

He shakes his head. "It's not like that, Iggy—" Flashes of Max run on a loop through his mind, from when he sees her for the first time with blood that wasn't hers on her face to the way she fought in tandem with him, a mixture of wild magic and flashes of silver.

Iggy laughs humorlessly as he finally downs his drink, shaking his head. "Really, Fang? They're all the same. Every Clearwater who was blessed with the blood rune,"—there's a sardonic smile—"only wanted the same thing; their souls were tainted with too much anger and hate and their stories never ended well. For them, anyway."

There's truth in his friend's words but something tells him he should just try to reason anyway, as drinks were on the house and he really didn't feel like staying sober.

So he tells Max's story the only way he knows how.

"There's a sadness in her bones," he begins, "and her soul was a wasteland. Barren and empty and dry."

He pauses to let Iggy order another round before continuing. "But in the middle of that desolate land, there was a house."

Iggy tilts his head and leans forward, face slightly scrunched in rapt attention.

"And as far as most Clearwater stories go, hers was not kind."

* * *

He heads back home a little before dawn and if it's one thing he wasn't expecting for the day, it was Max sitting at his kitchen counter dressed in one of his old longsleeves and boxers, nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels next to an empty plate.

"Your interior design needs work," she says, turning around to face him and gesturing at his black marble and brushed metal kitchen, "but I'll excuse you because you have quite the liquor collection. Shame that most of the cabinets are locked, though."

He can't really say anything to that and chooses to take the seat across from her, grabbing the bottle from her hands and taking a swig, ignoring her hooded glare.

"I'm assuming that you took the liberty of exploring here?" He directs his gaze to her clothes and her mildly damp hair.

She shrugs. "Nothing better to do in a penthouse I've only stayed for four hours in," Max answers, and grabs the bottle back. "So where exactly are we, anyway?"

Fang leans back and takes her in, messy hair and too-pale face. He thinks back to his conversation with Iggy and decides to let her finish the rest of the bottle.

"London," he answers casually and she merely blinks, unfazed.

"Figures. Lack of skyscrapers and commercial buildings and all; I had a feeling we weren't in America, at least."

They share a moment of silence before she stands up and and places her plate in the sink. "We should talk."

He stands up and gestures at the direction of the living room. "In there."

She throws him a look. "I'll have you know that your furniture is extremely uncomfortable.

He shrugs and begins to head in the direction of the room. "You're always welcome to sit on the floor, then."

* * *

In the end, she's curled up on one end of the sofa with her knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around them while he sits on the couch across from her. Fang ignores the way the boxers ride up her thighs and focuses on the way her eyes dart from the windows to her toes.

"I'm pretty sure you know the basics of my family history," she begins but he cuts her off.

"I do. But I want to hear it from you. Take me back to the start with _your_ story." Max finally meets his gaze and he's thinking about how vulnerable she looks in this moment and wants to see the look in her eyes gone for the rest of his days.

"My name is Maxine Calestra Clearwater," she says, "and despite what people say, the Clearwater line was not always cursed."

Max swallows and continues. "In the beginning, when Alberdawn was just a handful of villages scattered across the land, there was Haniel Clearwater, first of his name. He was the kind of person that just commanded respect, I guess, and when mages began specializing in their elemental magic, he was chosen as the leader of Calesia Pavillion, safe haven for all Wind Mages. So he ruled. He managed diplomatic affairs, handled domestic problems, that kind of thing. Until, of course, he wanted more."

"There had always been a lot of tension between Ithea and Saradren; water and lightning Mages could never agree on who held more of the sea. It had been all political schemes and debates until some lightning Mages went and got out of line by sinking a Ithea fishing boat out at sea. And as far as wars went, people sided with who was stronger than their elemental elements, and the wind and water mages sided together against the lightning and fire mages. Calesia and Ithea emerged victorious—I'm not exactly sure about Haniel's role in the war— but after that, he was something like a paragon of a noble war hero. People looked up to him, and all that jazz. Soon, there was speculation that he wanted to rule Alberdawn. They weren't exactly wrong with that; it's just that instead of Alberdawn, he'd turned his sights elsewhere."

Max shifts a bit in her seat and he leans closer, already familiar with this part of the story.

"The Mortal Plain," he says, and watches the way her face drops.

"Yeah."


End file.
